


Our Staff Recommends...

by RaeRambles



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, I want to say this is angst, M/M, Other characters make itty bitty appearances, The bookstore au I've always avoided writing, but it's mostly just Magnus and Alec being soft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2019-01-17 22:03:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12375039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaeRambles/pseuds/RaeRambles
Summary: Magnus is the somewhat happy owner of a tiny bookstore in a tinier town. Alec isn't happy at all, but he is running away from his problems, so he's got that going for him.or the one wherein the Lightwoods star in a popular TV show, Alec is sad, and Magnus likes books.





	1. The Readers of Broken Wheel Recommend

_Staff Recommends: The Readers of Broken Wheel Recommend by Katarina Bivald_

_One sentence summary: A person is nothing without a community and a community is nothing without a bookstore._

* * *

 Magnus’ morning walk to work always made him feel like Belle at the beginning of _Beauty and the Beast_ , book tucked under his arm, wondering if this was really all there was. He listened to people call to each other, greetings and exclamations, like they didn’t see each other every day. 

At just past eight in the morning on a Sunday in summer, it wasn’t busy—there weren’t quite enough people to ever really constitute “busy”—but Magnus did spot a few of his neighbours on his way into work. Most of Magnus’ neighbours were older than him, most people either being too young to leave or too settled to imagine living anywhere else. Magnus was neither, but it didn’t seem like circumstance was going to let him leave any time soon.

It wasn’t to say that the town was boring, but Magnus was certain that in all the years he’d lived in it, the only thing about it that sometimes changed was the weather—which was as temperamental as its occupants.

That morning, the sun was warm, but the breeze was cool and Magnus silently chastised himself for leaving his sweater hanging over the back of the couch. The bell over the store’s door chimed as he opened it. He walked through and up the two steps, venturing deeper into the books. They rose from the floor like trees, a forgotten forest that threatened to swallow him.

Ragnor was already there, cramming books into the children’s section with the kind of aggression that made Magnus wonder what Each Peach Pear Plum had done to hurt him. He looked up as Magnus walked in.

“Almost late,” he said with soft admonishment.

“Alright, asshole,” Magnus huffed. “I’m your boss, you know?”

“I’ve cleaned up your vomit too many times to take anything you say seriously.” Ragnor said, slamming Goodnight Moon with his fist. Magnus briefly considered firing him, but that would mean putting the books away himself.

Magnus sighed, sliding the book that he’d nicked the night before back onto the shelf. He covered the few steps between Ragnor and himself, coming to lean on the edge of the shelf that Ragnor was abusing.

“I don’t think pushing it is going to make it fit.”

“Watch me.”

Magnus snorted, doing just that. Eventually the book squeaked into place—though Magnus imagined it would be impossible to get back out if the need arose—and Ragnor gave Magnus a look of savage victory. This was the kind of life that Ragnor enjoyed. Peace to read, the repetitive task of shelving and re-shelving. Magnus felt too complacent, too out of the loop of the rest of the world. He wanted to be in the middle of the action, breathing in new air, disappearing into a crowd that didn’t know his name.

“What are you thinking about?” Ragnor asked, getting to his feet and taking the small stack he was putting away with him. He shifted the books in his arms and quirked a brow at Magnus. “You seem like you’re a million miles away.”

“I’m not,” Magnus said, “and that’s part of the problem—“

“Not this again.”

“What?”

“Magnus, if you want to leave,” Ragnor fixed him with an strong stare. “You could go. Sell the house, sell the store, and just leave. Phones exist, planes exist, you can come back or call anytime—“

“I can’t leave the store.” 

“You _won’t_ leave the store,” Ragnor corrected. Magnus hummed. He’d known Ragnor for his entire life—maybe shy a month or two when Magnus was in the womb and Ragnor was already shitting in diapers—and they’d rehashed this argument so many times Magnus wondered if they were rehearsing to perform it for someone. “You’ve heard everything I have to say on the matter.”

“And you understand my reasoning—“

“I understand your excuses, yes.”

“Ragnor.”

“Magnus.”

Magnus shook his head, running his fingers through his hair once. “I’m not ready to move on.”

“It’s been years.”

“Maybe I’ll never be ready to move on.”

This time it was Ragnor who shook his head, putting the last book away. “I’m going next door to get coffee before I fall asleep standing up—“

“You know that going to bed before the sunrise is an option?”

“Like you’re one to advertise healthy living.”

“I’m nocturnal.”

“Maybe so am I.”

“You work in a bookstore only open in the daytime.” 

“You own a bookstore only open in the daytime.”

“Touché.”

Ragnor rolled his eyes and slipped past Magnus, the bell cheerfully announcing his departure.

It certainly didn’t feel like daytime in the bookstore. That might’ve been why Magnus liked it so much. He felt safe and protected, like this was just a room full of portals to take him to other places. The only notion that time went on in his strange haven was the clock that rested above the front counter, though it never audibly ticked. Ragnor had insisted that the silence was delicate and essential. Magnus wondered if Ragnor felt his breathing was a disturbance and could imagine them being the subject of a particularly boring episode of Criminal Minds, where Ragnor would kill Magnus to preserve that divine silence.

The front of the store had a big window with several books in it—usually the ones that Ragnor and Magnus were the fondest of—and a pair of cushy armchairs. A third armchair (in considerably worse condition) was behind the desk where customers could pay. These served as a kind of waiting room, reception-like area. The store branched out from this small front. Two steps up and then there was nothing but shelves.

Magnus’ mother had built it to last. Magnus thought that there had to be some kind of irony to it, some kind of joke in the notion that she’d imagined the store existing for a long time. But Magnus couldn’t deny the beauty of the expanse of dark wood that needed daily dusting. The shelves lined a winding set of corridors that fit together like Tetris pieces. Somehow perfectly arranged for browsing and finding what you were looking for, whether or not you knew what that was going in.

This was the closest Magnus got to his mother anymore. Maybe the closest he’d ever gotten to her. Understanding her love of the bookstore and her intentions to create something that was as much art as it was basic architecture.

Ragnor was right in many ways. Being in the store made it easy for Magnus to pretend that nothing had changed. It was still middle school, Magnus was doing his homework, thrown in one of the chairs. His legs were propped up, draped over Ragnor’s lap as Ragnor ignored his homework in favour of trying to learn Tolkien’s elvish. Catarina was sprawled on the carpet. His mother was humming the back room. Magnus could close his eyes and tip his head back, the feeling of sunlight dripping down onto his cheekbones.

But when he opened his eyes, he was alone. Catarina was down the street, in the clinic where she was a doctor. Ragnor was still getting coffee. His mother hadn’t been here in years.

So Magnus stood, feeling young and old at the same time in all the worst ways. He picked a book off the shelves. He flipped the sign on the front of the store to Open. He walked behind the counter and sat in the third armchair. He opened the book.

He waited.

* * *

_Shadowhunters Filming Delayed_

_Rumors are flying as it has been announced that the new season of Shadowhunters will not begin filming until this fall. It was originally scheduled to begin shooting in April, with the first half of the season premiering in October. However, it was announced this would not be the plan after tragedy struck for the Lightwood siblings._

_Many are wondering if the Lightwoods will continue to be on the show or if the rumors are true and this coming season will be their last. So far there has been no official comment made from the Lightwoods or any of the Shadowhunters cast, though an insider…_

* * *

Alec’s forehead was sticky with sweat. Part of it was the heat, part of it was the labour, and part of it was his complete abandonment of any kind of exercise over the past few months. He knew that he’d lost a lot of weight, but catching a glimpse of his reflection in the truck window still made him wince. He’d always been rather tall and willowy, a trait he shared with his sister, Isabelle. But he’d reached the point of looking almost emaciated.

“I thought you weren’t the materialistic sibling,” Jace said bitterly, looking at the boxes they still hadn’t brought in. Alec tore his eyes away from his reflection to roll them at his brother.

“I’m not.”

Jace snorted, crouching down to pick up another box. Alec had been frozen in place for longer than necessary, but Jace didn’t comment on it.

Alec picked up a box, grunting under the weight of whatever Isabelle had packed as “Mementos.” He was only going to be staying for the summer, but Isabelle didn’t seem to think that. With the way she was acting, it was like Alec was joining the army. She’d sobbed in the airport and everything, like he wasn’t a plane ride—they could easily afford—away.

He hadn’t wanted to confess his relief to his sister. Relief they weren’t filming. Relief he was getting out of LA. Jace, with his blonde hair and golden eyes, was probably the more recognizable of the two of them, but Alec was still stopped and followed almost everywhere he went. A fact which had gone from flattering to suffocating in the recent months. So here he was, off the grid and living in a small town that hopefully didn’t watch a lot of TV.

The house he was renting was small, tiny compared to Alec’s sprawling LA apartment, but Alec didn’t want a lot. He just wanted a place to sleep and relax. He had books. He could walk to the grocery store in slippers and not have it plastered all over TMZ. He was excited.

Most of the house was living room with a small kitchen, a bathroom, and two bedrooms encircling it. There was a large backyard and a car port. Alec felt like a housewife from the fifties, with the beige carpet and the retro fridge. He wondered what Isabelle would say if he came home with an accent.

He was staring at a sad tree in the backyard—all wilted and dying like it had just given up on staying upright—when Jace broke the silence again.

“That’s the last box.”

He’d set it on top of a few others. Together they’d managed to build a small settlement out of boxes.

Clothes.

Books.

Mementos. (Alec still wasn’t sure what that was.)

Photos. (Difference between this and mementos? Don’t ask Alec.)

More Clothes.

Kitchen Stuff.

Ugly Sweaters. (Apparently don’t count as clothes.)

Bathroom Stuff.

Things to put on walls. (Not photos, _things_.)

Sheets.

Pillows.

Extra Blankets.

Alec didn’t even realize he owned this many things. He could’ve sworn they’d left most of it in LA. Was moving the kind of activity that made people throw away everything they owned? Were people actually able to move and unpack and convince themselves they still needed it all? Alec was tempted to just make furniture out of the boxes and see if he’d ever actually need any of it.

“I didn’t know I owned so much shit,” Alec said softly. It was the kind of thing he would’ve said without thinking before, but now he realized it had lingered in his head too long to sound natural. It sounded like one of his lines, dead on arrival.

Jace still laughed, though it was stillborn as well. “Dude, you have nothing on Isabelle.”

“I know.”

Neither of them said anything about Max.

“When is your flight?”

“In about,” Jace glanced at his watch, “five hours. I’ll probably drive the hour and a half back to the airport and then eat something bad for me after I get through security.” Jace fired them off quickly and Alec nodded.

He knew that in reality Jace would probably sit somewhere for almost too long, thinking about everything and nothing, forget to eat, and board the plane just before it took off, but pretence served them well.

“Wait,” Jace said quickly, “smile.” He brought out his phone and snapped a picture of Alec, surrounded by boxes and probably looking like his own corpse. “Isabelle made me promise.”

Jace and Alec made themselves comfortable on “Mementos” and “Ugly Sweaters” respectively, despite the couch being right there. Their sister would have loved this. Sitting on boxes, feeling normal, feeling sibling-ish. Maybe with her the silence wouldn’t have felt so long.

Alec and Jace had shared trailers for years. Even when they were given separate ones, they would often end up lumped together, talking about anything and everything to fill the time. Isabelle would flit in and out when she wasn’t on some date with a boyband member or a teen heartthrob. But now, there didn’t seem to be anything to talk about. It had taken years, but it seemed that they’d finally run out of topics.

Jace shifted and leaned over, rummaging through the backpack that had sat in Alec’s lap in the cab of the truck. He pulled out Alec’s phone, which was essentially just a brick because he hadn’t charged it in too long.

“Charge it.”

“I will—“

“Listen,” Jace sighed, “you can live in the middle of nowhere and get some breathing room. You can drop the show—“

“I never said—“

Jace held up a hand. “You can drop the show. You can never set foot in LA again, for all I care. But please, fucking phone me.”

Alec looked down at his feet.

“I miss you.”

I miss me too, Alec thought miserably. He wasn’t sure if Jace and Isabelle were stronger than he was or if maybe he’d just been closer to falling apart than he realized, but in that moment he felt small. He felt like the younger of the two of them. Usually it was his job to take care of Jace.

“I love you,” Alec said softly. He didn’t look at his brother, but he could feel Jace’s eyes watching him. Following the sharp edge of his cheekbones and the collarbones that stabbed up through his sweater.

“I love you too,” Jace replied. “Come back whenever you’re ready.”

Alec nodded stiffly and stood up to let his brother out of the house. When they got to the door, he caught Jace’s arm and pulled him into a hug.

He remembered hugging Jace on red carpets, on camera, in cars, in trailers. He remembered singing—read: screaming—along to music in the car. He remembered pancakes in the middle of the night and drinks in the middle of the day. Jace that glowed. Jace that would have eaten an entire box of doughnuts the day after they wrapped on a season.

But he pulled back and the only thing left was Half-Jace. Jace who was tired and ill-looking. Less so than Alec, but still dimmer in almost every way. Jace who hadn’t sung along to a single song on the drive there. Jace who wouldn’t even listen to the radio on the way back.

Alec sat down again on Ugly Sweaters, alone this time. He stared at the floor between his feet.

He wasn’t sure why, but he waited. Waited to feel full again, to feel whole again. He waited for someone to call cut. He waited for the scene to end and for things to go back to the way that they should’ve been. He waited to wake up.

He waited. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is a thing I wrote? I was bored and sad over the summer and hammered out about three chapters in like ten hours, then went back and planned the rest of it. There are 11 chapters total, with the 11th being a pretty short epilogue. I've already written most of them, so I'll try to post one a week until they're all up. (Either Saturday or Sunday depending on when I remember.) 
> 
> Each of Alec's POV parts will have a social media/clickbait-y BuzzFeed style piece about the Lightwoods and each of Magnus' will have a book with a summary. (Which, you'll note isn't a real plot summary, but more a summation of the lesson or meaning one takes away from the book.) The show that Alec & Co star in is kind of like the actual Shadowhunters, but obviously they have different character names and the series its been based on resembles The Mortal Instruments/Shadowhunter Chronicles very, very little. I will make references to/jokes about the series, but don't worry about it or take any of it too seriously.
> 
> I wrote most of this fic listening to When by dodie on repeat, so if you want some sad tunes to go with it, I highly recommend her stuff. (I also, by default, have been listening to She Will Be Loved by Maroon 5 while writing for about five years now, so that would work as well.)


	2. Attachments

_Isabelle and Jace Lightwood out on the town!_

_Two thirds of the Lightwoods were seen out to dinner last night in Beverly Hills. They made no comment on the rumors that this could be the end of their time on Shadowhunters, but did seem to be enjoying their night out together. As excited as fans were to see the two of them out looking healthy and happy, one question was on everyone’s mind: Where was Alec? The trio are rarely seen apart and are notoriously close. So far, no word on the missing Lightwood sibling and why he was absent from the bonding session…_

* * *

 

 When Alec woke up, he spent a few minutes staring at the ceiling before it occurred to him that for once in his life, it was quiet. His head was quiet, the house was quiet, the city was quiet. It wasn’t really a city, if he was thinking honestly, but the absence of the traffic roar still seemed novel. He’d barely unpacked anything, throwing sheets onto the mattress that was sitting on the floor (the bed was in pieces because Alec believed in the power of IKEA and flat packed furniture, but didn’t actually want to put it together.) He was still wearing his clothes from the day before and felt a little bit like leftover pizza, greasy and gross, so he dug through “Bathroom Stuff” and got together enough things to take a shower.

Years of hotel rooms had trained Alec in the art of taming a foreign shower, but he still didn’t get out unscathed. He got clean, but got blasted with cold water several times—seemingly for no reason.

Once he felt human and had eaten three pieces of the loaf of bread he and Jace had bought the day before—this was a good meal other adults would consume, he told himself—Alec had no idea what to do with himself. 

No one was around, so Alec lay down on his back in the middle of Box Town—his name for his current state of living wasn’t exactly creative, but there was no one around to comment on that either. After spending most of his life living up to expectations and attempting to surpass them, it felt odd to have no one waiting to see what his next move was going to be. Of course, it wasn’t to say there weren’t people wondering, but with Alec’s phone still dead and his laptop somewhere in Box Town, they couldn’t touch him.

He’d never had free time like this before. He was so used to being told where to go and what to do and when to do it. There had been days when everything from his meals to his bathroom breaks had been scheduled to the minute. Now the entire day was spread before him like a buffet, and he wasn’t hungry.

He closed his eyes.

He tried to imagine what Isabelle and Jace were doing. Jace had gotten on his plane. Isabelle might’ve met him in the airport. He might’ve just called her on his way home. They would have gone for dinner, pretending like everything was normal. Conversation at dinner would have been weird, talking about things that had happened, imagining that they would easily happen again.

They would all go back to Shadowhunters in the fall and it would be a normal. Premieres and parties. Stumbling back to apartments tipsy and laughing, leaning on each other’s shoulders and sleeping on the living room floor like they were puppies, piled together. Fancy lunches and award shows. Live streams for fans from makeup chairs and sets and locations. Costumes and masks and lines.

But when Alec opened his eyes he was lying in the middle of Box Town. And he was lying to himself.

He didn’t know how to go back.

Remembering his promise to Jace, he shuffled over—still flat on his back on the floor, picking up enough dirt that it was likely he’d need another shower—and plugged in his phone. It made a series of congested noises as it caught up to all the things he’d missed, everything launching at once in the closest thing a phone can get to a seizure.

 **Clary** : did u arrive ok???

 **Simon** : does this mean we’re not seeing the new star wars movie together?

 **Simon** : duDE.

 **Clary** : what’s a 6 letter word for no?

 **Clary** : alec

 **Clary** : im doing a crossword

 **Clary** : i cant google bc cheating

 **Clary** : alexander gideon lightwood

 **Clary** : REFUSE 

 **Iz** : Love you

 **Iz** : Hope the house is nicer than it looked online

 **Iz** : Send me photos 

 **Jace** : i didn’t die on the plane.

 **Clary** : jace got back ok

 **Jace** : izzy and i got dinner and she ordered the salad with the peaches and the goat cheese. AGAIN. send help.

 **Simon** : iz and jace are arguing about salad and i don’t understand what this has to do with me

 **Iz** : Call me loser

 **Iz** : I miss you

 **Mom** : Everything is the same here. Hope things get better on your end. Love, Mom.

 **Clary** : i know ur sad and i know we aren’t always best friends but i miss u already so come back soon

 **Clary** : pls

 **Clary** : everyone is fighting about salad and i have no one to sigh with

 **Clary** : simon is crying

 **Iz** : The picture Jace took of you is terrible

 **Iz** : Next time try not to look like he just told you you’re going to die

 **Iz** : I know you’re attractive because you’re related to me so please try to act like it 

 **Iz** : I’m kidding

 **Iz** : Kind of 

 **Iz** : Call me 

 **Jace** : call iz. she’s fucking killing me. 

 **Jace** : Also my girlfriend is ignoring me to text you. How is that a thing that’s happening right now. 

435 new notifications from Twitter.

382 new emails.

Alec wanted to scream. Not at his friends. He missed them. But he also missed the way that he used to be with them. He knew that something was off, he knew that he needed space. He knew that he never wanted to reach the point where he couldn’t love them anymore, when he couldn’t see that there was something wrong. 

His sweater was probably expensive. Alec was pretty sure that it had been a gift from Isabelle, which usually meant a hefty price tag and a brand that Alec was supposed to know. This thought in mind, he picked himself up off of the ground.

He tried to brush himself off, though he suspected he was unsuccessful. He slipped his feet back into his shoes, old converse that Isabelle had been lobbying to burn for years.

Feeling like he had all the time in the world, suddenly free from everything, Alec walked out the door and into the sunshine.

* * *

 

_Staff Recommends: Attachments by Rainbow Rowell_

_One sentence summary: Friends exchange witty banter to liven up work; love shows up uninvited and unannounced, but not unwelcome._

* * *

 

Magnus was on the brink of falling asleep. They’d had a few customers in and out, but mostly it had been him and Ragnor—who’d been struck with the idea to reorganize some sections of the store—chatting lazily in the warm embrace of the day. He was slouched behind the front counter, meaning he almost had to shout to Ragnor, who was hiding further back in the stacks.

The bell above the door chimed and Magnus looked up, ready to greet whoever was coming into the store. But the words died on his lips before he’d even decided what to say.

The guy that came in was fresh from the pages of the teen romance novels that Magnus devoured like candy. He had dark hair and pale skin. His eyes flickered to Magnus and he gnawed on his bottom lip—a nervous habit, not a sexy one. He was tall and he held himself like he didn’t want to be. He stood like he wanted the world’s eyes to pass over him, to hopefully not see that he was there. It was a shame, because he was beautiful, whether he wanted it to be true or not.

He was also a familiar face, because Magnus spent more time than he should’ve watching E! News. Alexander Lightwood was a leading character on the addictive Shadowhunters series that Magnus had had a wavering relationship with for the extent of its run. There were times when Ragnor and Magnus were unable to think of anything else and times when they couldn’t even stomach an episode. They’d read all the books and constantly debated if the show were making the books better or if they were deviating too much from the popular series and leaving too many gaps that would need to be filled before the series closed. This had become an increasingly frequent conversation when rumors had started to fly that the Lightwoods were leaving the show.

It wasn’t a secret that part of what made the show so delectable was its trio of gorgeous siblings. Though Jace wasn’t related to the other two by birth, fans ate up their relationship—on-screen and off.

They were the objects of obsession and adoration. There were several comparisons to the Kardashians, with their being a rich, famous family, but the Lightwoods were more private. They had social media accounts and were friendly with fans, but kept the core parts of their life to themselves.

Or at least they tried.

But Alexander Lightwood from Hollywood and TV looked like a hero, he looked delectable and dashing and charming and like the kind of person who faded to dust the moment you assumed they were anything more than a character.

This Alexander Lightwood looked tired. He looked like he’d been carved out, hollowed out, sucked dry by the vampires on his TV show. He looked more real than Magnus had ever imagined that he would.

He was wearing a designer sweater that was a little too big—not surprising given the clear amount of weight he’d lost—and slipped over his collarbones. God, Magnus wanted to drink wine from those collarbones. His jeans were of a similar fit and made Alec look like he was hiding in his own shadow.

“Um,” Alec shifted, again nervously, “you sell books?”

Magnus blinked. His voice was soft and raspier than on the show. On the show his voice was powerful—usually the voice of reason—and melodic. Magnus wondered if he was secretly a smoker or something. Magnus was also beginning to wonder if Alec was actually extremely stupid. The store was practically made of books and the signing on the windows and awning proudly declared it a bookstore.

Before Magnus could say anything else, Alec flushed a delicious red colour and stuttered out a: “Fuck, that was a terrible question.”

Magnus snorted and Alec gave him a hesitant smile back.

“Goddamn,” Ragnor hollered from the other side of the store, clearly unaware that they had company. “I love the Shadowhunter series and all, but these books are heavy as fuck. I get that each one being more than 600 pages allows for liberal usage of the word gorgeous and a few extra sex scenes—“

“Oh my god Ragnor—“

“I’m telling you, Magnus. They’re addictive and I don’t know what it is. Is it the writing? I doubt it. The world building… maybe? Or is it the fact that I can then watch the TV show and snootily proclaim that the book was better?”

“Is the book better?” Magnus indulged him, keeping his eyes on Alec. Alec seemed to find their topic of conversation mortifying, if the way that he kept looking from Magnus to the shelves that held Ragnor and back was any indication. He also continued to flush deeper and deeper.

“The books are good, don’t get me wrong. But nothing really beats the cast of Shadowhunters. Like everyone that works on the show is a Greek God or something.”

Magnus hummed.

 “I know you’re reading or whatever the fuck, but listen. I don’t think the books are amazingly good. Maybe the show isn’t good either. But this stuff is like goddamned crack cocaine. I can’t stop. I can’t put it down. The characters just keep doing stupid shit and I encourage it when I buy the book and then cry to myself over the TV show and then come into work and waste years of my life discussing it with you.”

Ragnor finally emerged from the back, his eyes wide and his arms flailing.

“Why do I do this to myself?”

“I don’t know,” Magnus shook his head, “I’m really not sure.” Fighting the internal urge to burst into hysterical laughter, he turned to Alec. “What do you think Alexander? Any reason the Shadowhunters books are irresistible?”

He seemed to flush even deeper now that Magnus had revealed they knew exactly who he was. Ragnor stared at Alec with the unashamed ogling of someone who thought they were looking at a wax figurine.

“I go by Alec most of the time,” he said softly. He cleared his throat and looked at them both awkwardly. “And I’ve never actually read one.”

“What?” They both blurted out in unison.

Alec looked embarrassed and also startled at the synchronized speech. He shuffled his feet a little, looking down at them. There was something in the set of his shoulders that told Magnus he didn’t like attention. But Magnus had seen footage of Alec on red carpets, laughing and joking with Jace and Isabelle while thousands of fans screamed his name. Had seen clips of him signing things for fans, presenting awards, walking with all the confidence in the world. Magnus had seen proof of Alec facing the world like there was nothing that could stop him. But the eyes of two twenty-something book nerds in a bookstore in the middle of nowhere, Nebraska made him shrink back into himself.

“I tried to read them,” he confessed. “When we first got cast, they gave Isabelle, Jace, and me a huge box set of all the books and the script of the first episode. There was like a letter from the author saying how excited she was and she’d signed the books or whatever. I think she wanted to meet us, but that never really happened. There was no way that Jace and Isabelle were going to read anything other than the script, but I figured I might as well give the books a shot.” Alec shrugged one shoulder.

“And you didn’t like them?”

“It was just too weird.”

“Too weird?”

“To be reading from the perspective of someone that I was pretending to be. It made the characters feel too real, too separate from myself. I didn’t want that to change the way I approached the show.”

“Wow, that’s deep.”

“Also,” Alec added, dragging the word out, “they were a little boring.”

Magnus and Ragnor both giggled at that. “

Alec shook his head. “They’re collecting dust somewhere in New York.” Magnus had forgotten that the siblings weren’t originally from sunny LA. He guessed their parents must still live in New York. “Or they got thrown away.”

He looked bashful and Magnus wished he could hear the story over and over again. There was something to it. It was half rehearsed, the kind of thing that gets pulled as a soundbite and gets used over and over again to explain how dedicated he is. And it was half genuine wondering. Wondering what had happened to the books, the thought that his siblings would never touch one of the volumes. The meandering, almost condescending nature that Alec seemed to speak of the author—who wavered in popularity depending on who you were talking to.

Alec gnawed on his lip again.

“Do you have a copy?”

“What?”

“Of the first book,” Alec clarified, “can I buy a copy of the first book from you? And anything you think would be a better read and will restore my faith in literature.”

Magnus laughed and Alec gave him a wider, more open smile this time. It carved Magnus open a little. It was the kind of smile that didn’t see the light of day as much as it should’ve. The kind of smile that was written off long ago because it wasn’t the kind of smile that stayed in photographs. It only looked genuine in the moment. So it was replaced with a false smile that looked genuine in photos.

He leapt from the armchair where he was sitting and pushed past Ragnor. To his delight, Alec followed. Alec’s eyes widened when they saw the extent of the bookstore and Magnus preened.

Snatching the copy of the first Shadowhunters book was simple. He spun around and offered it to Alec, who looked down and seemed to notice—again sporting an embarrassed flush—that it was one with a redone cover featuring the Lightwoods. All in character and photo shopped to perfection, they looked untouchable. Alec gently ran his fingers across the photo and the embossed lettering.

“Do you want me to find one without your face on it?” Magnus asked slowly.

Alec shook his head, laughing slightly. “It’s at least kind of funny this way. Instead of just being weird. I remember that photoshoot. The boots pinched my feet and I didn’t want to wear them. You can’t even see the fucking boots…” 

Magnus couldn’t help but laugh again, though this time he was accompanied by a gentle laugh from Alec as well. Having heard his laugh in interviews, Magnus didn’t want to link its figuratively dusty nature to the literally dusty nature of his sweater. Magnus liked the veil of Hollywood. It scared him to think of the people being torn apart on TMZ as people. It scared him to think of them as skinny, pale, and clutching a book in their hands like it might hold some kind of answer and not just 600 pages of sexy vampire nonsense.

It wasn’t any harder to find a recommendation than it was to find the Shadowhunters book. Magnus decided he might as well stay in the same genre and show Alec the other side of fantasy. There was the half that Magnus was easily seduced by, sexy everything with urban-based world building that allowed him to consider the possibilities of his own world; and the half that Magnus was married to, totally fantastical world building that allowed him to leave his own world for a few hours.

The second book he picked was the latter. It was called The Name of the Wind. Magnus handed it to Alec with the kind of reverence usually reserved for copies of the Bible passing between people at church.

“This book will change your life,” Magnus said firmly, tapping the navy blue cover as Alec ran his fingers over the lettering again. “So read this one,” he tapped Shadowhunters, “first.”

Alec nodded.

“I’ll come back when I’m done.” Alec said this like a promise and it made Magnus’ heart race. He couldn’t imagine Alec would be staying for very long, but when he’d paid and refused a bag and turned to go with a heartbreakingly tentative wave, Magnus wished he’d stay forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is the world's most subtle reference to a Fangirl by Rainbow Rowell in this chapter that I'm sure no one other than me would notice, but it's there. 
> 
> (Also sorry this is late, midterms are a bitch.)


	3. 84 Charing Cross Road

_Staff Recommends: 84 Charing Cross Road by Helene Hanff_

_One sentence summary: There isn’t a damn thing in the world better than books._

* * *

Rain has a way of making inside feel tighter, making all the little corners and spaces close up. And though the rooms feel warmer, the world outside gets colder to match. Magnus wasn’t sure the bookstore had ever felt smaller than it did that day. The rain wasn’t torrential, but it was hard, like someone knocking on the roof of the store over and over and over again, begging to come in. It had an invasive feel, slowly pushing the bookstore down to size.

To say that Magnus was in a mood would be an understatement. Meeting Alec the day before had made him aflutter and flirty, feeling younger and brighter and wondering if the world could get any better. But logic had kicked him and laughed.

Alexander Lightwood would never fall for someone like Magnus Bane. What a ridiculous idea, to assume that just because Alec was in this small town for a while he would think highly of Magnus. Magnus, who was only special in this small contained sample. Who was surely ordinary the moment you left the town limits.

He scowled at the book display in the front window. It hadn’t been changed in a while and while Magnus still liked most of the books on display, he wanted to fling them all from their perch. It was a Staff Recommends display, covered in books that he and Ragnor thought were worth reading. They each had little cards with their own personal summaries (limited to one sentence after the Great Expectations incident). But it was almost June, and June was Pride Month so maybe that would make a better display. He made a mental list.

 _History is All You Left Me_  by Adam Silvera (God that one had made him cry.)

 _Carry On_  by Rainbow Rowell (GAY WIZARDS!)

 _Captive Prince_  by CS Pacat (Ragnor could eat a dick, Magnus loved the whole series in all its trashy, smutty glory.)

 _Simon vs the Homo Sapiens Agenda_  by Becky Albertani (Love before first sight, what could go wrong?)

 _A Darker Shade of Magic_  by VE Schwab (Nothing like gay princes.)

 _Exit, Pursued by a Bear_  (Magnus had read this for the title, but then surprise! Lesbians!)

Could use a little more gender diversity, Magnus thought softly, chiding his mental list.

There wouldn’t be many customers with this rain, he thought. He would have the time to rearrange the books. It might make him feel better. He could make a chain of pride flags for the window.

“You’re going insane,” he said aloud. Ragnor had decided to take a day off—he was supposed to take many, but neither he nor Magnus could ever really stay away—so there was no one to comment on his behaviour but himself. “But it could be glorious.”

He was about to rip the whole thing down and start from scratch when he saw Alec through the window. At least he thought it might’ve been Alec. It shouldn’t have been Alec, because there was no way that Alexander hadn’t used ten of his millions of dollars to buy a goddamned umbrella—

It was Alec.

Soaking wet and smiling.

His face was so bright Magnus half expected to see a rainbow. 

He wasn’t doing anything to try and keep the rain from pouring down his face.

Magnus couldn’t help but feel his heart skip at the sight of him. He tried to tell his heart to mind its manners and try to keep the simple act of beating under control, but he found his mouth smiling back and wondered if that lecture should take priority.

He stepped back from the window, his hands drifting back to his sides. They still itched to do something and the idea of the Pride Month window was building itself in the back of his mind, but both of these things took a backseat to the very cute boy.

Alec opened the door with a kind of lazy confidence usually only employed by Ragnor and Magnus himself. Most customers opened the door like they were afraid it wouldn’t work, that it wasn’t a real door, that there was a bucket waiting on the top of it for them to foolishly walk under.

“That was the best book ever.”

Magnus was—to say the least—surprised. “I honestly didn’t expect you to like Shadowhunters that much, especially since you knew all the plot points from being on the show—“

“Huh?" 

“What?”

“I couldn’t get through five chapters of it,” Alec said sheepishly. “I meant The Name of the Wind.”

“Oh—Wait you already finished it?”

“Yes?”

“It’s like a thousand pages.”

“I didn’t have anything else to do.”

He said it in a way that told Magnus he wasn’t sure if this was a good thing or a bad thing. Like someone that wasn’t used to having free time. It dimmed the look on his face a few notches and Magnus couldn’t stand to see that happen.

“Lucky bastard,” Magnus sighed dramatically, “I decided to clean my house last night and I think I just managed to make it messier.”

Alec laughed, looking brighter again. He ran his fingers over a couple books that were lying abandoned on one of the armchairs. “How on Earth did you do that?" 

“I just pulled out cleaning supplies and put them everywhere.” Magnus groaned, pinching his nose. “It was stupid. Just a really, really terrible idea. I should’ve read some Patrick Rothfuss instead.”

“Speaking of,” Alec said, “next book? All the books? Every book he’s ever written ever?”

“Um,” Magnus froze, “about that.”

“About what?" 

“There’s only two.”

“It’s just a duology?”

“No, it’s going to be a trilogy.”

“Oh, when does the third book come out?”

“No one is really sure?”

“What.”

Patrick Rothfuss was a lovely gentleman with a good sense of humour and a magnificent beard. One of the few times that Magnus had left town, he and Ragnor had gone to a convention to watch him speak. But years in with no mention of a third book meant their relationship status was locked on It’s Complicated until further notice.

“I can’t believe you let this happen,” Alec said, throwing himself into one of the armchairs and throwing an arm over his eyes. “How could you let me read them, knowing that I would be slighted when there’s no third book. How could you betray me like this?” Magnus could hear the laugh in Alec’s voice.

“I’m sorry, darling—” Magnus was just about to dramatically throw himself at Alec’s feet—go big or go home—when the door chimed open. Both Magnus and Alec straightened up and turned to look at the newcomer.

The room dropped a few degrees and not because of the air from outside. Camille stepped into the room, closing her umbrella and dropping it into the metal stand by the door in one graceful motion. She smiled at him, all teeth and no feeling.

“Magnus, love.” She didn’t even glance at Alec. “I’m only back in town for a few days, but I heard that you were still here and figured I’d come see. Thought maybe you’d have a book or two I should read.”

Magnus wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to help her. He wanted her to leave, wanted the itching feeling of her in the room to dissipate entirely. But he calmly handed the second Patrick Rothfuss book to Alec, who was looking at Camille with a kind of detached interest. The fact that he didn’t seem to notice Camille’s beauty made Magnus wonder. Alec accepted the book and flipped to the first page, bowing his head like he was reading but watching Magnus lead Camille up the steps.

They didn’t make friendly conversation or attempt to disguise that their past wasn’t without its ghosts. Camille hummed, walking close behind him and running her nails over the spines as they passed. Magnus always ran the pads of his fingers along them, soft and gentle and forgiving.

He knew her tastes. Their discussions of literature and her intelligence had been one of the things that had first drawn him to her. Ragnor likened it to a horny moth to a beautiful flame, but Magnus sometimes wondered if it was more her sense of otherness, her desperation to get out of their small town, that had sucked him in. He mulled this over in his head, thoughts clouding as she hovered over him.

He pulled out two books, knowing that she’d like them and knowing that he didn’t want her here more than she had to be. Magnus was a proud person, a confident person. He enjoyed being Magnus, regardless of his surroundings, there was nothing about his skin he didn’t feel comfortable in. Camille always made him feel transparent, made him feel imperfect—made him feel like the only way to be perfect was the be hers, the only way to be complete was to allow her to complete him. She didn’t comment on the books, barely even glanced at them before nodding.

Camille’s gaze wasn’t hungry, it was predatory. She didn’t want to consume him, but liked knowing that he was weaker, smaller, hers for the taking if she decided. Magnus wanted her out.

He rang her up without speaking. Alec was subtly watching them from the corner, though he flipped pages to keep up the act. Camille smiled the whole time. She paid in cash. When their hands brushed, Magnus wondered if he wasn’t comfortable in his skin after all, but would rather peel it all off and start over. By the time she was gone, Magnus was cold as ice. He wasn’t sure she said goodbye, he wasn’t sure if he said anything back.

She reminded him of a version of himself that had wanted to leave. A version of himself that had thought himself better than this town, superior at his very core. 

That wasn’t a person he liked anymore. It wasn’t that Magnus didn’t want to leave, it was that Magnus had come to see the value of what was already here. He was separate from his town in many ways, but would never believe himself above these people simply because they liked living here. 

He was knee-deep in his thoughts when Alec cleared his throat. 

“Are you alright?” 

“What?”

Magnus looked over, almost surprised that Alec was still here. He’d flipped back to the beginning of the book—confirming Magnus’ suspicions that he hadn’t read any of it, but didn’t want Camille to know that he was spying—but wasn’t looking at the pages.

“I remember,” Alec closed the book. “Jace had this one girlfriend who was so bossy. She told him where to go and when to be there. It wasn’t that she was really organized or really worried about being on time or whatever. She needed to be in control. And she wasn’t nice about it. Jace broke up with her eventually, but I remember being surprised it took him so long. I think he was surprised too. He was a different person around her, smaller somehow. That different person was afraid to break up with her—“

Magnus noticed one of his hands was shaking. He placed it on the counter to still it.

“I said too much,” Alec mumbled. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry—“

“Don’t be,” Magnus said. “Whenever I wasn’t with her, I’d tell myself I needed to break up with her. That she wasn’t right for me. That she didn’t love me. But then she’d come into the room and any sense I had went out of the window. I was younger. I was dumber. When she moved away, I thought that that was the end of it. I haven’t seen her in a long time.” The words felt foreign tumbling out of his mouth. He said nothing about his mother. He wondered if he would have gone with Camille had his mother stayed. He wondered if he would've stayed the version of Magnus that had been Camille's if his mother had stayed where she belonged, in the arm chair behind the cash with a paperback open on her knees.

Alec nodded, but frowned.

“I know I’ve known you for literally a day—like literally 24 hours—but you seem like a pretty awesome person.” Alec shrugged, looking down at his feet. Magnus couldn’t take his eyes off him. “I don’t think you need Camille for that to be true.”

Magnus couldn’t help but smile, it slid into the corner of his mouth and forced his lips open. “You’re a good person, Alexander Lightwood." 

“That’s highly contested.”

“Trust me, I’m right on this one.”

Before Magnus could blink, Alec had changed the topic. He brought it back to books and Patrick Rothfuss. He made Magnus laugh. He made Magnus feel warm and full inside and made Camille disappear entirely. The rest of the morning disappeared as well. 

When Alec finally left—the rain stopped and they both realized it was his best chance at getting Rothfuss home in one piece—he paused in the doorway. “If you ever want to talk about stuff, I’m around.” His eyebrows crinkled. “Wow, that was terrible. It turns out I really do need a script.”

Magnus snorted. “I thought it was lovely. Thank you. And hey, if  _you_  ever want to talk about stuff, I’m also around.” Alec huffed, but nodded.

He left without saying goodbye. Magnus wondered if he’d forgotten or if Alec just wasn’t one for goodbyes. The door had just swung closed and Magnus had just begun dissecting their conversation when the bell chimed again.

“Who was that?”

Catarina Loss rarely wore makeup. Her hair was often up and her face was often pinched. She fluctuated from fun to factual in the blink of an eye, but on work days like this she was all business.

“Have I ever told you how damn cute your work clothes are?”

She didn’t technically have to wear them, she was a doctor, but also she was a doctor in a small town. Catarina could’ve practiced medicine in her pyjamas and no one would’ve batted an eyelash. But she still dressed up professionally every day, white coat and all. The only times she wasn’t wearing it were her lunch breaks.

Which, going by the sandwich in her hand and the lack of the aforementioned white coat, explained her mid-day visit.

“I know that Ragnor isn’t in today, but surely you could’ve slathered that boy in charming instead of wasting it on me,” Catarina said, though she smiled regardless. “Also, you didn’t answer my question. Who was that? I know he doesn’t live in town, but he looks familiar and if you don’t tell me, it’ll bother me all afternoon.”

“That was Alexander Lightwood.”

“Who?”

“God,” Magnus sighed, “don’t you watch any television?”

“I prefer books and people.” Magnus raised an eyebrow at her. “And the occasional lifetime movie. What is your point?”

“Alexander Lightwood is a main character on the TV show Shadowhunters.”

“Oh.”

“Every teenage girl in the country—and probably ever teenage boy too—would give up their pancreas for a chance to talk to him one on one.”

“Probably. Our educational system is broken, so they probably don’t even know what their pancreas does.”

Magnus rolled his eyes. “Listen, Kitty Cat. I’m conflicted. I should be freaking out because he’s hot and he’s famous and somehow he seems to like me. But I’m more freaking out because he’s sweet and he makes me laugh. There’s something about him. I can’t put my finger on it.”

“Do you have a crush?”

He groaned. “I hope not. Crushes are often my downfall.” And they were. There was an extensive history that could be studied to prove this. But at the same time, this history meant that Magnus could certainly feel the stirrings of a crush. It started in the tips of his fingers, like hypothermia—Magnus was fairly sure that was where hypothermia started. It spread through his circulatory system like a virus and pretty soon, full system shut down. Crush coma induced.

Catarina hummed. “Um, I hate to ask.” She chewed on the edge of her sandwich thoughtfully. “But what the hell is he doing here?”

“That’s the question,” Magnus said. “The thing is, there are a few explanations, but each one is weirder than the last.”

“Shouldn’t he be in LA? Slaying vampires or something?”

“Actually, a couple of the vampires are friends, it’s really the demons—“

“Oh my god.” 

“Right, sorry. I feel weird talking about this now that I know him. But it’s everywhere online. They have a younger brother—“

“Who?”

“Right, very beginning. Alec,” Magnus waved at the window that no longer contained Alec, “has a sister and a brother, Isabelle and Jace. They’re all on Shadowhunters together. Main characters, siblings that play siblings on the show. The world eats it up. They’re lovely and adorable together. But they have a younger brother as well, his name’s Max. He was never on the show, but he was constantly on their social media and it was obvious they were close. He’s been in a coma since April.”

“Oh shit.”

“ _Oh shit_.” Magnus agreed. “There was some kind of car accident or something. A lot of people say it’s unlikely he’ll ever wake up. And a lot of people also say, that it destroyed the Lightwoods.”

“You’re right, it does feel weird after having seen him and knowing he’s a person and everything.”

“I know,” Magnus sighed. “But Shadowhunters was supposed to be shooting right now, airing in the fall. All of it has been pushed back because of the accident. There’s been talk that they might even quit the show.”

“And if they did?”

“There wouldn’t be much of a show left, if I’m honest.” Magnus sucked his bottom lip into his mouth. “I guess we can at least confirm that one rumour is true.”

“Which one?”

“The one that says that Alec has left LA. Maybe for good.”

* * *

_5 Times that Isabelle Lightwood and Simon Lovelace were the ultimate relationship goals._

_If you’re anything like us, you are obsessed with the off again, on again relationship between Isabelle Lightwood and Simon Lovelace. Not only are their characters madly in love, but it looks like they are as well. Rumor has it they’re looking to get engaged and this could be the happily ever after to this tremulous love story. We’re counting down our top 5 favourite moments of their relationship (so far!)_

* * *

“So, big brother, how is the Midwest?”

Alec had forgotten how different his sister sounded on the phone. It turned her melodic, smooth voice into a tinnier, whinier version of itself. He had never been happier to hear it. Only a few days and he already felt a weight off his shoulders. Her voice’s quality only reminded him that he was far from his old life and there was something about that even better than being able to speak with one of his favourite people.

“It rained.”

“Wow, thanks for that Mr Weather Man. Did you at least use the umbrella I packed you?” She sounded only mildly annoyed. She missed him.

Alec shrugged, even though she couldn’t see him.

“You didn’t, did you?”

She was psychic. He had always known. It had started when she always knew that he had been the one to eat her orange chicken and now it had escalated to this. There was no escaping her all-knowing power.

“I might’ve not.”

“Oh my god. Alec.” Whenever Isabelle said his name, it was an entity in itself. To Jace it was nothing more than a label. His best friend’s name was Alec, but the name was unimportant in itself, it being Alec’s name was the only significant thing about it. Isabelle treated Alec like some kind of separate being. It was its own sentence, its own song. As though all of Alec’s personhood was tied up in his name.

“I don’t like them.”

“Alec. That is the fear of children and idiots. Use an umbrella. Save your hairdo.”

“I don’t have a hairdo.”

“Get a hairdo.”

“How does one procure a hairdo.”

“First procure a fucking hairbrush, then we’ll talk.”

Alec couldn’t help but laugh. He made his way down the last few streets and took the two steps up to his front door. He had to press the phone to his shoulder in order to hold the book he’d bought from Magnus and unlock his front door at the same time.

He was greeted by the totally unwelcoming sight of Box Town. He tried not to let that thought worm its way into his head. He threw Wise Man’s Fear down onto Mementos and slipped off his shoes.

“Wait, did you go outside in the rain?”

“Yes.”

“You went outside?" 

“Can you please not say it like I’m a sad hermit.”

“Well—“

“I am not a sad hermit, Iz.”

“Maybe you’re not sad, but you’re a little bit of a hermit.” She had that backwards, but Alec didn’t correct her. He was sad, but he didn’t have any problems going outside. It was just hard to want to go outside when you’re sad all the time. “Anyways, where did you go?”

“The bookstore—“

“Alec. Books are a gateway to hermit-dom.” 

“I’m not a hermit. And they are not gateways to anything except awesome.”

“What?”

“Forget I said that, it was lame.”

“I’m trying. Look, it’s a common fact, the more you read the less people you talk to. You go to parties less, you drink less, you engage less. I know that you like books, and that’s great—“ 

“Nothing you said is true. I went to buy a book and I talked to Magnus for like three hours.”

“Magnus?”

“He owns the bookstore? I think? He might just work there.”

"Does he wear a name tag?" 

"No?" 

“But, you know his name?”

“Of course I know his name—“

“Is he cute?”

“I mean; I guess—“

“Do you like him!?” Isabelle practically screamed into the phone and Alec quickly distanced it from his ear. He rustled around, trying to get a piece of bread out of the bag with only one hand. He was going to need some more food soon, with the rate that he was consuming the bread. Though it did help that he’d forgotten to eat before he’d left to go to the bookstore.

“He’s nice—“ 

“No, I mean do you like like him.” 

“I’m not fucking twelve.”

“No, because when you were twelve, we were on Disney Channel and you never could have said fuck on Disney Channel. Now, do you like him or not?” 

“Would it actually matter either way?” Alec didn’t eat the bread, but tore at it with his fingers. He loved Isabelle, but she was pushing and Alec wasn’t sure he was ready to be pushed. “It’s not like he’d like me back.”

“Not while you’re wallowing in despair he wouldn’t.” 

“I have a good reason to wallow.” 

Silence. The elephant in the room had sat on the phone line. Alec politely waited for him to stand again. Isabelle did the same.

“He’s nice okay. He’s nice to me and he doesn’t treat me like I’m an exhibit at the zoo and he has good taste in books.” Alec sighed. “But it doesn’t matter because we’re not going to date or anything, because that would be ridiculous. I want to be his friend. That’s all that matters.”

“Okay,” Isabelle said softly. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have been shitty. Also, I shouldn’t have dissed the reading thing. I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.” She sounded like she’d shrunk a few sizes and Alec felt his heart sink. 

“I shouldn’t have been shitty either. How’s the home front?”

“Good.” He could hear the shrug in her voice. “Sunny. Hot. LA. Simon is good. Clary is good. Jace is okay.”

“I’m glad.”

“Good. Now, when can I come and visit and meet this cute Magnus fellow?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have, in fact, seen Patrick Rothfuss in person and his beard was amazing. Definitely worth noting. 
> 
> Also, if you have not read 84 Charing Cross Road, I recommend not researching it at all, but simply reading it. It's very short, non-fiction, and entirely letters. It took me less than an hour to read and made me cry.
> 
> (A note on Simon "Lovelace" in this fic: if you're super, super confused about Simon's last name, don't stress. His last name is changed in Tales from the Shadowhunter Academy and I really liked the new one. That's it, that's all. I wish there were a deeper reason, but there isn't.)


	4. The Ocean at the End of the Lane

_Lightwoods on the way out?_

_The casting director for Shadowhunters confirmed today that they are looking for some new blood to help lighten the load for our favourite trio. They had no comment on whether or not this will prepare for the siblings to leave the show, only that they are hoping to ease some of the pressure currently resting on the Lightwoods._

_The Lightwoods play the fictional demon-hunting family that stars in both the Shadowhunters books and subsequent TV series. Though they’re in all thirteen books, with the possibility of no more Lightwoods after season five, fans are left wondering: will this be the point where the TV series separates from the books entirely?_

* * *

 

“I told her,” Jace’s sigh crackled over the phone line, “we’re not leaving the show. At least, not right now. But they’re right to be looking for some new people. Not only would it make the show better, but it would mean that we don’t have to stay.” He paused. “You wouldn’t have to stay.”

“I like doing the show.”

“You just hate the press and the premieres and LA and everything about being on the show.”

“Being on the show and showboating from red carpet to red carpet are two very different things,” Alec said. He scowled at the ceiling, again lying on the floor instead of his couch. Box Town was still untouched, though he had gone out the day before and gotten some proper groceries on his way home from the bookstore.

Alec had been in the middle of nowhere, Nebraska for almost two weeks. And every day he’d been in to the bookstore to see Magnus. Every day he’d read a different book, each one almost better than the last. He was happier than he’d been in a long time.

But what he told Jace was true. Being on set? Dressed in leather and coated in fake blood? Running through fight choreography with his friends and his siblings? That was fun. It was the attention that Alec couldn’t stand, like ants under his skin. Always being watched and examined. Jace found the adoration rewarding, but Alec would rather shed the fame the moment that he stepped off set.

“I just—“ Jace seemed at a loss for words. Knowing that butting back in with more opinions and excuses wouldn’t help Jace track down his train of thought, Alec kept quiet. “I can hear how happy you are. You’ve been gone for eleven days. And in eleven days you’re sounding good again. I don’t want to bring you back if you’re going to be sad.”

“I—“

“I know that it’s hard. I know that I don’t always get it, I sometimes miss the point like I’m a blind man trying to play whack-a-mole, but I love you. I want you to be happy and if you being happy means you not being on the show anymore that’s fine.”

“You want to stay though.”

“Not without you.”

And there it was, the truth the worried Alec to the core. If he left the show, his siblings would leave as well. They had started this together, they would finish it together.

“You love it. Being famous, I mean.” Alec flinched. “That sounded bad. But you like the press and the fans. You like having people watching you and being interested in you.”

“But I don’t like that more than I like being your brother. I’m not doing this without you and I’m not going to drag you back into this if it makes you miserable.”

It was strange, the amount that Alec felt they’d been having this conversation. They could never quite reach an agreement and Alec was beginning to wonder if Shadowhunters would be pushed back forever, waiting for one of them to fold. For Alec to stay or for all of them to go.

“Isabelle agrees,” Jace said. “We will bow out, all together. We were a family before the show and we’ll be a family after.”

There was very little that Alec could say to that. He didn’t dare ask if they would still be a family if Max never woke up.

“So,” Jace said, “what are you doing down there?”

“Um.” Alec thought back to what he’d been doing. Groceries yes, Magnus yes. Also a fair bit of time had been spent staring at the dying tree in the backyard and wondering if he should put it out of its misery, replace it, or let nature run its course. “Reading?”

“Reading?” Jace sounded stunned. “I mean; I remember you liking it when we were younger. I guess I just can’t imagine reading for long stretches of time. I need like an hour break after twenty minutes of reading.”

“You’re on your phone for hours—“

“That’s different.” Jace paused. “Anything good?”

“Magnus has helped me find—“

“Magnus?”

Alec flushed. He’d been careful not to mention Magnus the last time that they’d talked on the phone. Not because he didn’t think Magnus was amazing, but because Isabelle had been able to see in less than a heartbeat that there was more to Magnus than just friendship. Alec liked being friends with Magnus and would be happy to be friends with Magnus for the rest of his life, but his sister was right: he wanted more.

The more that he talked to Magnus, the more his crush grew. Magnus had interesting thoughts and funny opinions and always had something to say about everything. But he was also willing to listen and remembered the tiniest of details that Alec had only ever mentioned once. Alec forgot sometimes, what it was like to talk to someone that wanted more than money or press stories. And the moment that Magnus reminded him, he was smitten. It wasn’t to say that he liked Magnus just because Magnus treated him like he was human, but it was like throwing gasoline onto the fire that was his crush. 

“Um, he’s a person.”

“I got that.”

Jace sounded amused and intrigued. Though Alec had come out to his family a few years earlier, they rarely discussed his relationships. (There weren’t many to speak of anyways.)

“He works in the bookstore. He’s nice. He chooses good books.”

“Is he also attractive?”

“Why would it matter?”

“Just asking,” Jace laughed, “no need to get defensive. I just want to know if my future brother in law is a looker.”

“I don’t even know if he’s gay.”

“Does he seem interested?”

“I think he’s just being nice.” Alec gnawed on his bottom lip. “There was this girl that came in one time. I got the feeling that they dated.”

“Even if they did, he could be bisexual or pansexual or asexual or demisexual or something else that I don’t know much about but is still valid.” Alec had to admire Jace’s dedication to being open-minded. He’d never been homophobic or awful or anything, but after Alec had come out he’d made an effort to research and learn. And then, of course, remind Alec. That everything was okay and he was part of a community now 

“Jace, I don’t think it matters either way.”

“Because they’re dating now?”

“No, because I don’t know if I want to date.” Silence. Alec could hear his heartbeat in his ears and feel the shake of his hands. He felt like a coward. “I’m not ready to come out. Like in a big way. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready. I can’t ask Magnus to wait forever. To pretend to be just my friend. He’s—“ Alec laughed hollowly. “Jace, he’s so nice. And he’s so wonderful in so many ways. He gets this look on his face sometimes, when he thinks that I’m not paying attention, and it’s so sad.”

“I know what you mean.”

“We’re alike in a lot of ways I guess. And maybe, in some other life, we would be together. We could be good together. But here, now, in this life? I’m not ready and I can’t ask him to wait for a day that might never come. Even if he’s gay or bi or pan or ace or whatever.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why? It’s not your fault,” Alec scoffed. “You let me rant about the guy that I’m developing a crush on for like five minutes. I should be apologizing to you.”

“Nah.” Alec could hear the smile in Jace’s voice. “The amount of time you listened to me talk about Clary is probably in record books somewhere. And, I don’t know, I don’t think you should give up. Not yet.” He paused. “Everyone misses you by the way.” 

“Clary texts me daily about the crossword.”

“She’s trying to do it every day in your place. I told her you weren’t bothering to subscribe to a paper or anything while you’re down there.”

Alec snorted. “I’m honoured.”

“Okay, I’m only going to ask one more time.”

“Jace—“

“Is Magnus hot? Yes or no? Hotter than me? Hotter than Simon? Hotter than that one waiter that one time where all of us practically wanted to marry him?”

“He’s lovely.”

“What.” 

“Lovely?”

“Where on Earth is that on the Hot Scale?”

“The hot scale?”

“From the special effects makeup of the swamp demon in season two to the waiter from that one time, where does Magnus sit on the scale of hotness?”

“Not even on the scale. He’s so far beyond that he’s not even on the scale.”

“Wow… He’s that ugly?”

Alec hung up. But he couldn’t get rid of the smile that was hinged on his face. He tapped the phone against his chin and dragged himself to his feet. He’d head to the bookstore, he decided. He needed to select his daily book. And if he wanted to get his daily sighting of Magnus, that was no one’s business but his own—and, perhaps, Magnus’. 

* * *

_Staff Recommends: The Ocean at the End of the Lane by Neil Gaiman_

_One sentence summary: We must always remember that we are worthy of saving, that there are no parameters to personhood, and that there is magic—if we’re willing to look._

* * *

 

Magnus had been putting in way more hours than usual. Ragnor, or course, noticed immediately and called him out on it. Magnus, because denial was what he did best, told Ragnor to stuff it. He didn’t have a crush on Alec and he was working the same amount as usual. And if he was putting in more time, it wasn’t because Alec was coming in every day, it was because Magnus was finally ready to commit to improving the bookstore instead of just maintaining it. He was ready to turn over a new leaf.

Apparently, what was under that new leaf was sickness.

“I can’t hear a damn thing you’re saying, but if you don’t come in soon, you’re going to miss your favourite customer.” Ragnor sounded, the way he always did, like he was just between the border of amusement and annoyance.

Magnus huffed. His voice was almost entirely gone. He should’ve just texted Ragnor, but Ragnor was actually eighty-five years old and just pretending to be twenty-three, so he never answered texts within a month of receiving them. “I said,” he wheezed, “I’m sick. I can’t come in. I think I’m dying.” 

“Did you take up smoking or something?”

“No.”

“Why do you sound like an alley cat in a cartoon about cats that live in the streets and rob stores and are in little cat gangs?”

“Is that a real thing?”

“I don’t think so. Might’ve been something I watched as a kid and am now just convinced was a dream.”

“Oh. And I’m sick. That was part of the whole thing.”

“You sound like you’ve been smoking a pack a day since the 20s.”

“Oh my god. I get it. I sound like shit. I just wanted you to know that I wasn’t going to be in.” Magnus paused. He closed his eyes in preparation for the humiliation. “You know, if Alec comes in you could maybe tell him that I’m sick and so I couldn’t see him? Maybe. Just if he comes by.”

“You know that he will.”

“I don’t know anything.”

“Ugh. Whatever. Get better asshole. Bye for now.”

Magnus opened his mouth to say goodbye and got the dial tone. He rolled his eyes. “Bye for now. Like talking to my fucking grandfather.” He tossed the phone down onto the couch beside him and tipped his head back, looking at the ceiling. “Whole day to myself,” he said aloud, “what on Earth should I do?”

The funny thing about having something like a small business in a tiny town, is that once you start worrying about it and you start working on it, you never stop. Magnus wasn’t the type to get sick often, so if he ever took days off, it was more to get out of the store than it was to not work. He’d crunch numbers at home or go through catalogues. Give Ragnor the reins and drink tea in his kitchen while he flipped through ARCs.

But now he felt terrible and didn’t have any work that he needed to do. He’d ordered the books for the next quarter and now he was just staring at a wall. How boring his life had become. Cat would be working the whole day in the clinic and Ragnor would obviously be in the store.

Magnus had vivid memories of when his mother would free him from the confines of the bookstore and her watchful eyes. He remembered how the sun would seem brighter and the air would seem fresher and he would dream of possibilities that could never be his. He’d dream about being famous or being rich. He would dream about seeing the world with Cat and Ragnor by his side. How they’d drink on the beach and dance in the moonlight, like characters from a novel that never had any responsibilities but being alive.

He and Cat would try to see who could swing the highest, while Ragnor—who was deathly afraid of heights—would read nearby. They would shout at him to look over and be the judge. He would stand, stretching dramatically and lumbering over. He’d squint against the sunlight and laughing, would tell them that it was “goddamn impossible” to tell.

They would pester.

He would finally declare one of them the winner.

The winner was always a poor winner and the loser was always a poor loser. But it didn’t matter, because they’d buy popsicles down the road and argue as they melted and made their hands sticky.

Magnus could remember what it tasted like to be free and to be happy and to be content with dreaming of bigger things.

Now, fully aware that bigger things were not within his reach, Magnus wasn’t sure he wanted to dream anymore. He wasn’t sure he wanted to fall for Alec, who would do nothing but remind him that his life was likely to be the movie Groundhog Day for the next fifty years.

He blinked. That kind of thinking would get him nowhere. He was lucky, lucky for stability and for the love he received from his friends. To discount that and to imagine that it wasn’t enough wasn’t fair to all the people in the world that wished for what he had.

He shook his head. It was time to do something. Anything, but sit on the couch and think of the things that he wanted, but couldn’t have. Alec, he supposed, was one of those things. But he didn’t feel like one of those things. He felt like something close and tangible and touchable and possible.

“Alright Magnus,” Magnus said to himself, in a totally not insane way, “let’s grab a book and your phone, and move this fiesta to the bed.”

This turned out to be a mistake. There was no point in grabbing the book. He fell asleep instantly, the moment that he curled under the duvet. He woke up, pawed around for his phone and discovered that he’d taken a forty-five-minute unscheduled nap.

Ugh.

Day napping when there was nothing better to do but curl up in a little spot of sunshine was lovely. Day napping when he was sick always made Magnus feel sticky and achy.

Ragnor had phoned. Twice.

There were also a few texts from a number he didn’t recognize, a call that was obviously a telemarketer, and six snapchats from Catarina that would probably be photos of the book she was reading—they liked to send each other pictures of their favourite parts, provided they didn’t spoil anything horrendous.

Annoyed and grumbly, Magnus phoned Ragnor back.

“What.” 

“Good morning sunshine, the world says hello.”

“What?” 

“That’s you’re “I was just asleep voice” and my “here’s an outdated joke.” What did you think?”

“Two out of ten. You can do better.”

“Noted. Now, don’t you want to know why I called?” Ragnor sounded like he was trying to make Magnus mad. It was working.

“Ragnor—“

“Are you feeling any better?”

“What?”

“I realized,” Ragnor said, his tone a little softer, “I hadn’t asked yet. Are you feeling any better? Did the sleeping help?” Ragnor was always more manageable than Catarina when Magnus was sick. Ragnor went into mother mode—how are you? Are you eating? Drinking? —but Catarina went into doctor mode—what colour is your shit? (This was legitimately a question that had come up one year when Magnus had the flu; he’d vowed to never call her when he was in less than peak condition ever again.)

“It helped a little,” Magnus said. That was true, his voice had stumbled its way home, though it had brought with it a kind of fog over Magnus brain. God, being sick was the worst. “I think a few more decades of sleep and I’ll have returned to my usual glory. Now, why were you calling?”

“Oh yeah!” Magnus could hear Ragnor’s smile. “Alec came by?”

Fog gone. Mind clear. Crops watered. 

“He did? Did he—um, never mind.” To ask Ragnor if Alec had asked about him felt a little presumptuous (and a little too high school.)

“He asked about you,” Ragnor said. Magnus thanked god that his best friend could see through his poor attempt at being nonchalant. “Didn’t buy anything either. He looked really lost that you weren’t here. And really worried when I told him you were sick, though I did make sure to mention that it was a head thing and not an unstoppable diarrhea thing.” 

“How can I ever repay you?”

“Don’t infect me. Stay the fuck away from the store until you’re better.” Magnus sighed, but agreed. There would be no hope if they both got sick at once. Also, Ragnor was a total baby when he got even the slightest illness. “Also, I gave him your number.”

“What? Wait, what? You did what now?”

“I’m rolling my eyes.”

“Thanks for that. Now tell me, why on Earth—?”

“What are you talking about? You have a crush the size of Canada on this boy and you’re not going to give him your number. The two of you are doing the most ridiculous dance. Stop pretending like he’s just a regular customer and text him. I know that he’s texted you already, he was doing it as he left the goddamn store.”

“Really?”

“Of course. I can’t tell you if he’s gay or straight or whatever, but he’s interested in you in some way. You said that you wanted to be his friend. Prove it. Start talking to him for real.”

“I talk to him every day.”

“People are different over text. For better or for worse. Also, he’s going to go broke if he keeps coming in here to buy shit.”

Magnus scoffed. “You have no idea how much he’s made, do you?”

“No? Is it a lot?”

“Clearly more than you think,” Magnus sighed. “But I know that you’re right. I’ll text him. Uh, back. I’ll text him back.” The unknown number made a whole lot more sense now. “Thanks Ragnor.”

“For what? I didn’t make you like him or him like you. I wrote ten digits on a piece of paper and sent him on his way.”

“You’re always willing to kick me in the ass when I need it. I love you.”

“Jesus Christ Bane. Keep it in your pants.” Ragnor paused. “I like you too or whatever.”

“I said: I love you.”

“I thought we were only saying I love you on Christmas because we weren’t, and I’m quoting you here, basic bitches who say I love you because they don’t mean it.”

“I’m feeling ill and sentimental.”

“Fine, I love you too. Or something. Now fuck off and text Alec. Also don’t come into the store until you would be allowed in an old folks’ home. Sanitize motherfucker.” Ragnor laughed before he hung up and Magnus snorted back.

Sometimes, he forgot that he wanted to leave. But then, he was alone with his phone and the three texts that were waiting for him and the feeling crept back. He imagined standing in a loft in Brooklyn, looking at those same texts. Hearing the roar of the city and thinking of all the places he and Alec could go. The clubs they could dance in and the streets they could roam.

Here, there were no flashy things to see. There was nothing interesting to draw attention away from Magnus’ faults. Here, in this town, Magnus just being Magnus would have to be enough. And he wasn’t entirely sure what he’d do if it wasn’t.

 **424-235-8527** : Hey, it’s Alec.

 **424-235-8527** : Ragnor gave me your phone number, I hope that’s okay.

 **424-235-8527:** He said you were sick and I hope you’re feeling better.

He gnawed on his bottom lip. He could text Alec and see where this went. Or he could pretend like he never saw them, hope that this and the desire to leave would just vanish on their own.

He added Alec to his contacts, his fingers stumbling over his name.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard.

 **Magnus** : More than okay.

Was that weird? Too late, it had been sent. Now he needed a follow up. Before Magnus could muster up anything cool to say to deflect the fact he’d just gotten weirdly serious, Alec replied.

 **Alec** : Oh good. I missed talking to you today.

Magnus groaned. This boy was going to be the death of him. It was strange to imagine anyone missing him. That not seeing him might have even the tiniest effect on someone’s day. Ragnor had immediately been able to cover for Magnus—in reality, the bookstore probably didn’t need the two of them at all, but that didn’t stop Magnus from hiring his best friend the second the store was his. Catarina could be satisfied knowing that he was okay and that he was (mostly) happy. Alec just wanted to talk to him. Somehow.

He was afraid that he wouldn’t be enough, he was afraid that he would be enough. He was afraid that Alec would uncover and overturn the reasons that Magnus couldn’t leave this town that he resented so much.  

But here’s the thing about dangling your legs off a cliff. You can know that it’s a bad idea, a terrible one even. But when you’re bored or you’re desperate or you’re searching or you’re hoping, sometimes the rush is worth the danger. Sometimes just the feeling that maybe you could fall—maybe you could fly—is enough to wipe away the fact that it’s a bad idea.

Friendship is a flawed idea, trust that has no contract or insurance. Handing someone your desires and your fears and expecting them to hold them as gently as if they were their own. Romance is even worse. Romance is friendship on steroids, supercharged to the point of absolute insanity. 

Magnus loved bad ideas. He loved friendship and romance. And if he was fool enough to believe in both, that was his own business—and, perhaps, Alec’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I use Jace fairly sparingly in fics. I just kind of minimize him for the sake of maxing out Magnus and Alec interactions instead. Their phone conversation is me trying to make up for that and I gotta be honest, it was really fun to write.


	5. Exit, Pursued by a Bear

_Shadowhunters Cast hanging out without Alec???????_

_Okay, so we all know that one of the best parts of Shadowhunters is that all your favourite demon-hunters are also besties in real life. From adorable slumber parties to enviably house parties, this crew doesn’t split up for anything._

_So…why were they all together except Alec? Alec’s been totally silent on social media since the accident that involved the youngest Lightwood sibling, Max, but this just seems weird? First it was seeing Jace and Isabelle without the third musketeer, but the whole gang got together for coffee the other day and it would seem that Alec wasn’t invited. Fans are going nuts trying to guess where the missing member is and why he might be on the outs with the rest of the group._

* * *

“Can people get rabies?”

“What?” There was a piece of pizza halfway to Alec’s mouth, but that didn’t seem nearly as important as the fact that his brother’s girlfriend was asking about rabies. “Uh, I think so? Why?”

“I think I have rabies.”

“I’m pretty sure you don’t.”

“I agreed to do that weird commercial for that one award show, remember? The one about like tweens and summertime—or teens and winter or elderly people and springtime, like it fucking matters—and they had a live racoon on set—“ 

“There’s no way in hell the racoon was rabid.”

“But Alec,” Clary said firmly, “it was making noises.”

Alec hummed, trying not to laugh. “What kinds of noises?”

“Bad ones.”

“Oh no.”

“I know. So, I think that I’m dying.” She sighed. “Also, I miss you. But mostly the racoon.”

“Mostly the racoon, but I miss you too.”

Alec’s relationship with Clary had been fraught with conflict. After five years and a lot of reflection, they were both kind of embarrassed about it. It had started with the two of them fighting for Jace’s time, and spiralled thanks to a series of totally petty arguments. Fuelled by the press constantly searching for a reason for conflict between them—because of all the cast, they seemed to have the most trouble gelling—it had taken almost two full years of being on the show together before they’d made peace. 

Somewhere annoyance had turned into fondness and soon Alec wanted nothing more than to insure Clary’s happiness. Now, Clary was like a second little sister, calling him about racoons and French fries and to tell him that there was a spider in her bathtub so they could both freak out about it together. She never talked about his leaving. She never poked at the side of his head the way that Isabelle did, wanting to know what gears were turning inside and how she could make them stop and start turning in happier ways. She wanted to ask about the weather. She wanted to gossip about the characters on the bachelor. She wanted to be friends.

Alec knew that talking about his mental health would probably be in everyone’s best interests. And, in fact, that the healthiest choice would have been to see a therapist. But with his siblings always dancing just around the subject, while doing a poor job of disguising their worry, it was nice to talk to someone who just wanted to talk.

“Do you think I could be on The Price is Right?”  

Alec hummed. “I don’t know, how does that work? Do you audition or is it just some kind of lottery? They don’t actually pick people out of the crowd do they? Would they pick you even though you’re not some anonymous person?”

“I’m not sure,” Clary said slowly, “but isn’t that like a bucket list type thing? Be on a game show?”

“It’s not on my bucket list, that’s for sure,” Alec sighed.

“What is then?”

“What?” 

“On your bucket list?”

Alec wasn’t entirely sure. And the fact that he wasn’t sure stuck with him, through the rest of the conversation with Clary—where she informed him that kissing all three Lightwood siblings on the mouth was on her list—and after. He was eating the pizza he’d postponed, sitting on the floor and staring at his couch. Box Town remained untouched.

A bucket list was the kind of thing that you created when you felt that there were things that you imagined that might not get done otherwise. Things that were like dreams that you wanted to attain, memories that would make the concept of oblivion manageable.

Alec’s entire life had ventured so far from what he would have pictured that he couldn’t imagine what there was left to do.

He’d seen the world—well, all the famous bits anyways. He’d been skydiving and swimming with sharks and all those things that people imagine when they’re waiting on tables or staring at the grey walls of their office building. He’d been to movie premieres and been on talk shows. There wasn’t anything fantastical that was out of his reach.

His phone buzzed beside him and he picked it up with the hand that wasn’t soaked in pizza grease.

**Magnus** : Can a person melt?

**Alec** : Is it warm outside today?

**Magnus** : I take it you haven’t been outside.

**Alec** : Don’t judge. 

**Alec** : I’ve been eating pizza and talking to Clary. 

**Magnus** : No judgement.

**Magnus** : I mean…

**Magnus** : It is kind of noon.

**Magnus** : But that’s fine.

**Alec** : You see, you say that it’s fine, but there’s something that tells me you’re giving me a tiny bit of judgement right now.

**Magnus** : Sir, how dare you. I would never.

**Magnus** : And, I mean, if you wanted to get out of the house. You could come and see me.

**Magnus** : Just if you felt like it.

Alec had to put the phone down before his face got any warmer and burst into flames. There was something about the way that Magnus was so honest about wanting to see him, about enjoying Alec’s company, that made Alec into a human puddle. He wasn’t sure if this was the way Magnus just was with his friends or if it was flirting—he had a sinking feeling it was the former, if the way that Magnus teased Ragnor was anything to go by—but either way he was falling for it.

He would also be lying if he didn’t say he appreciated that Magnus used capitals and punctuation in his texts. Though, that was a terribly lame thing to like about someone. He could imagine telling Isabelle now.

“He’s just really nice,” Alec said aloud, “and he uses proper grammar in texts, so that’s a major turn on.”

It was even stupider when he said it aloud, to himself, alone. But since getting Magnus’ phone number, they’d texted every single day—with Alec still making almost daily trips in to see him. There was something about it that was wonderful and strange. It wasn’t that Alec hadn’t had people to text in the past, but Magnus was different. Texting actually felt like talking. There was no hidden tone. Magnus texted exactly the way that he spoke, so Alec could imagine the things he was saying. Nothing got lost in translation.

And he texted Alec about anything and everything. There was a never ending stream of things to talk about, a conversation that only seemed to pause when they were able to talk in person, and was quick to pick up once they’d parted.

Somehow Alec was twelve years old again and getting texts from the boy he liked was killing him. It would’ve been embarrassing if it hadn’t also simply been exciting.

Groaning, he tapped out a message telling Magnus he’d come by to see him soon. Then he tossed his phone down, flopped back on the floor and tried to eat lying down without choking.

It took most of his concentration.

Box Town was beginning to grow on him, he decided as he pulled on his shoes. He’d rearranged some of the boxes to act as furniture he was probably never going to get around to unpacking. He’d taken out a few things in terms of clothes, but most of it appeared to be unnecessary. Alec wondered if he should just leave it all here when he finally had to go back to LA.

Fixing his hair in the reflection of the front window, he set off to the bookstore. Magnus wasn’t kidding when he’d talked about how hot it was outside. A few minutes out of the door and Alec was already burning in the blistering heat. It was a kind of clogged, sticky heat that made the air somehow less breathable.

He nodded to a few older people he recognized from his other trips into town, but didn’t make any moves to engage. They smiled at him and let him be. He liked that. He felt known in the familiar way, not the famous way.

When he got closer to the store, he could see Magnus through the window, lounged low in one of the chairs. He was slung over the chair like he’d been poured into it. Alec couldn’t make out the title of what he was reading, but there was a furrow in between his brows, which usually meant that whatever it was had his full attention. 

Or it had his full attention until Alec opened the door and the tiny bell sang his arrival. Magnus perked up, throwing a smile at Alec and a scrap of paper between the pages of his book.

“Hello darling,” Magnus said, his voice warm. Alec wanted to drape himself over Magnus like a blanket and find out if he was as comfortable as he looked. He tried to rein in his thoughts, smiling back. 

“Hey Magnus.” His own voice came out soft. The bookstore was dark compared to the blinding sunlight outside and it took a moment for Alec’s eyes to adjust. Stepping into the bookstore always felt like somehow falling into a different world. Time stretched like taffy here, stringing on and on forever. There was a forest of books and armchairs that begged to be sat in. Alec wasn’t sure how he ever managed to get the self-control to leave, but when Magnus was here, looking indulgent and—dare he say it—cuddly, it seemed impossible. “What are you reading?”

“The Black Prism,” Magnus said, turning the cover to Alec could see. “The magic system has to do with light and while I’m enjoying it, I’m struggling to remember all the qualities of each colour.” His voice trailed off near the end, like he was mentally already thinking of the colours again. Alec couldn’t help but smile.

He opened his mouth to ask more about it, but before he could, Ragnor emerged from within the store. Ragnor always struck Alec as someone who belonged in a library. He had fair hair and pale skin that would’ve suggested he were sickly, if not for the way that his green eyes shone. Alec had never been an artist, but something about Ragnor was so otherworldly that he knew Clary would love to draw him.

Then again, Magnus was similar, though his hair and skin were darker. There was something about him that just seemed magical, like he was hiding a secret you would never be privy to.

“Alec!” Ragnor said, sounding bored and annoyed—which was as close as Ragnor got to excitement it seemed. All of his emotions seemed to be in the range that Alec considered negative, but he’d never gotten any feeling that Ragnor was unhappy. “Good, now that you’re here take Magnus down the street and make sure he eats something.” A pause. “And get me a coffee while you’re at it.”

He then vanished back into the shelves. Alec couldn’t help but grin at that and when he looked back to Magnus, he was smiling as well.

“I think we just got given a quest,” Magnus said, slipping his phone and his wallet into his pockets. “Though he could’ve spiced up the language a bit to make it at least the tiniest bit mystical.” His voice was almost a grumble and it was adorable.

They left the store, walking in sync without stumbling once on the timing.

“How is Clary then?” Magnus asked. 

“Good,” Alec said, “she thought she might have rabies, but I’m fairly certain she’s going to live.” He couldn’t hide the fondness from his tone. 

Magnus snorted. “Naturally. I too get a rabies scare every now and then.”

“It’s the kind of thing you just can’t avoid.”

The coffee shop was, as all good things in little towns are, family run and always lazily busy. A few people sat at tables, but there was no line to get them to the front counter. The girl behind the register had dark hair and eyes that reminded him of Isabelle, though she was far paler and had a smattering of freckles over her nose. When she smiled and waved at them he caught a flash of braces and a blue friendship bracelet around her wrist.

Alec ordered himself and Ragnor a coffee, asking her if it would be okay to have the second one made in a few minutes when they were closer to leaving. He didn’t see the point in bringing back coffee if it had gone cold.

Magnus scrutinized the food in the display case, as though it wasn’t almost the same every day. He tapped a finger to his chin before tapping it against the glass softly.

“Do you have a favourite sandwich, Emily?” Magnus didn’t even glance at the girl’s nametag. Alec marvelled that he knew her name without trying. It had been a different teenager the last time they were in and Magnus had known his name as well.

Emily couldn’t have been more than fifteen, but Magnus took her opinion very seriously. “I think the ham,” she hummed, “but they changed the mayo they were using in the turkey or something and it’s been amazing lately.” 

Magnus ‘oohed’ and nodded. “It’ll have to be the turkey then.” He pulled out his wallet to pay, but Alec shook his head.

“I’ll buy your sandwich and coffee.”

“No—“

“I get a cheque every month for some toothpaste company in Japan that put our faces on the tubes,” Alec said slowly, so the absurdity of the situation would sink in. “I’ll pay for the sandwich.”

Emily snorted and Alec gave her a small smile. He could feel himself becoming more at home in his skin here. Anyone who realized he was famous here seemed to think that it was funny, and odd, but nothing to freak out over. He liked it. 

They sat down near the window as Magnus ate.

“What do you think it would take for me to get my hands on some of that toothpaste?” Magnus asked, chewing his sandwich thoughtfully. “Like would amazon be able to get me the hookup or am I going to have to go more insane?”

Alec blinked at him. “You want toothpaste with my face on it?”

“It may or may not be the funniest thing I’ve ever heard of. You bet your ass I want it. I want as many tubes as can be procured.”

Alec sipped his coffee to hide his smile. It was pretty funny when you thought about it. It was also a little embarrassing, from toothpaste to body pillows, the shit that had his face on it. But Magnus didn’t need to know about the body pillows. _That_ was the kind of thing you didn’t tell people. To tell people someone put your face on toothpaste was funny. A body pillow was just kind of weird.

“You have your thinking face on,” Magnus told him. “Does this mean you’re taking my toothpaste problem seriously?” 

“Now it’s a problem?”

“Definitely.” Magnus nodded. “If you can’t help me I’ll have to live knowing that there’s toothpaste out there I will never see.” He paused. “Wait, no, that sentence wasn’t entirely right. Never mind, you get the idea.”

Alec was the one who had brought it up, but the entrance of fame on their conversation still left his mouth a little sour. All he could think of was how much Emily must have been getting paid to stand there all day. How when he was the same age he’d been in movies and on Disney Channel, looking older than he should’ve. When he thought of Isabelle at fifteen, she wasn’t awkward or lanky or innocent, she was fully made up and perched on the edge of a sofa, posing for photos that would’ve edged their way into most teen magazines.

He wondered if the empty feeling in his stomach was because of that. Because somewhere along the way they’d lost that. They’d lost the part of their lives where they were supposed to be lost and confused and learning. Instead they’d been scheduled and styled and worshiped.

“Are you okay?” Magnus asked. He kept his voice low, but it broke through Alec’s inner dialogue. There was something bitter curling in his stomach.

“Yeah? No. I’m not sure.” 

“Those are the options.” 

That coaxed a smile out of him whether he liked it or not. “You stole that from How I Met Your Mother.”

“Maybe.” Magnus smirked, sipping his coffee delicately. “But that doesn’t answer the question. What’s on your mind? Is everything okay?”

Everything wasn’t okay. If Magnus had been anyone but Magnus, Alec might’ve told him that it was all fine. Because he guessed, in all the surface ways, it was. But there was something bone deep that Alec couldn’t place that was wrong. Well, he could place it and he could even name it, but that didn’t mean that he was going to.

“You can tell me anything,” Magnus said. And Alec knew that he meant it. Magnus was one of those people that would accept anything that Alec threw at him, would take every problem seriously. He would never laugh if Alec needed help. 

“I just—“ He stumbled. He’d been so happy only a few moments earlier, that all of a sudden he felt like it had leaked out of him. “I don’t want to do it where there’s an audience.” He was almost whispering, so Magnus had to lean closer to hear him, but when he did he nodded.

It wasn’t a big down and it wasn’t a big café, but Alec didn’t want to say anything when it wasn’t just the two of them.

“You could come over to my place,” Alec said, circling his finger over the rim of his coffee cup. His hand almost slipped inside as he scrambled to say. “Not in like a weird way, in a like we could be alone way. Oh my god that sounded worse.”

Magnus just laughed. “Your place sounds good.”

“Tomorrow night?”

“Okay.”

“I’ll cook something.”

“Alright,” Magnus said, smiling even wider. He then put Alec out of his awkward misery and changed the topic back to safer things. Well, if Magnus’ belief in the evil properties of ducks could be considered safer. 

It sounded a lot like a date. Maybe it was a date. Could you make a date for someone that mostly revolved around telling them you were sad? Did that ruin the rest of the date?

Alec wasn’t sure, but when they parted ways at the bookstore, Ragnor snatching his coffee with a snappy thanks before vanishing again, he was nervous in all the right ways. He liked Magnus, as a friend and as a something-else-that-he-didn’t-want-to-label.

**Alec** : I think I have a date.

**Isabelle** : ????????????????

**Alec** : Magnus is coming over to my house? Um…

**Isabelle** : What

**Alec** : I’m going to like make him dinner and we’re going to talk and shit.

**Isabelle** : Damn

**Isabelle** : I mean it took you long enough but damn

**Alec** : What? I’ve only known him like three weeks.

**Isabelle** : Almost a month

**Isabelle** : What are you going to wear

**Isabelle** What are you going to make him

**Isabelle** : For god’s sake comb your hair

**Isabelle** : You have an honest to god date you’re going to need to style it or something 

**Isabelle** : We’ll facetime

**Isabelle** : I’ll help you

**Alec** : You can’t cook for shit.

**Isabelle** : WITH THE HAIR

**Isabelle** : AND SIMON SAYS I’M A GREAT COOK

**Alec** : Simon is a liar.

He was about to tuck his phone into his pocket when he got a text from Simon.

**Simon** : what have u done

**Simon** : also good luck on ur date 

He smothered a smile with his hand. For the first time in a long time, Alec Lightwood had a date that mattered.

* * *

_Staff Recommends: Exit, Pursued by a Bear by E.K. Johnston_

_One Sentence Summary: You are more than your tragedy; you decide what breaks you._

* * *

 

Magnus wasn’t sure his palms had ever been this sweaty. Like he had to be setting some kind of world record for sweatiness at this point. Wasn’t he?

When Alec had suggested hanging out, just the two of them, Magnus had thought it was a great idea. With his raging crush and the worryingly sad look on Alec’s face, one on one time seemed like a pretty good offer. But now that he was here and feeling like he was going to puke, he wasn’t sure what to do.

The truth about living in a small town is this: you run out of people to date. Sure, Magnus had dated a little bit and he’d certainly had a myriad of ill-fated crushes, but he hadn’t been serious about anyone in a long time.

And he really needed to back up. This wasn’t even officially a date. Just two friends eating dinner. One friend was cooking for the other. Totally a reasonable thing to happen in a town with only two restaurants. Totally fine! Super fine! Super duper—

Oh my god it was a date.

It had to be a date.

Magnus couldn’t breathe.

Were his clothes okay? What if his breath smelt weird? What if he had the address wrong?

Okay, so the address was definitely right. There was no car, but there were lights on inside the house and the number on the front was the same one that Alec had texted him. Magnus wasn’t sure he’d known the people who had lived in this house before. It wasn’t very big and it certainly wasn’t as flashy as Magnus had been expecting.

He took in a deep breath. It was Alec, there was nothing to be afraid of. They were friends, there wasn’t going to be anything about this that was weird, right? He just had to get a handle on his heartbeat, go up and knock on the door. 

Alec opened the door, looking no fancier than he usually did—though his hair looked surprisingly tamed—and making Magnus glad that he hadn’t dressed up too much.

“Magnus!”

“Alec!”

The smile on Alec’s face was as nervous as Magnus felt, but he seemed pleased to see him. He stepped back to let Magnus into the house. “Do you want something to drink? I’m just finishing making dinner.” 

“A water would be good,” Magnus said, slipping his shoes off at the threshold, “and it smells good, what are you making?”

“Coq au vin. It’s a French dish that Clary taught me how to make.”

Alec continued telling Magnus something about how he’d learned to make it, but Magnus was far more distracted by the state of the living room.

The living room was mostly boxes. They were labelled in neat handwriting, but despite the fact that Alec had been here for almost a month, most of them were unopened _._ Magnus wasn’t entirely sure what to make of it. There wasn’t enough to think that Alec was moving here forever, but there were still plenty of boxes.

Only Clothes, Ugly Sweaters, Kitchen Stuff, and Bathroom Stuff had been opened. Sheets and Pillows must’ve been emptied, because Alec had turned them into a makeshift bookshelf to house the things he’d been buying at Magnus’ store. Though it was right next to an IKEA shelf that was unopened and unbuilt which Magnus thought was ironic.

There were other unbuilt furniture boxes and something labelled Mementos that looked like it had been converted into a hall table. Sitting on the “hall table” was—as far as Magnus could see—the only personal item that had been unpacked. It was a single framed photo and though Magnus had never met them, the people in the photo were all very familiar.

Isabelle, Jace, Alec, Clary and Simon all smashed together, arms over shoulders and faces pressed side by side, laughing for a camera. They were in full costume, but like they’d just finished shooting a scene, not press. There was fake blood and dirt all over their faces, but it didn’t in any way dim their smiles.

Alec had lost so much weight.

Magnus hadn’t realized just how much. Not until he was staring at a photo of Alec from before and thinking of the skinny, nervous Alec in the kitchen. It terrified him to think that this Alec, the one that was slowly becoming _his_ Alec, was unhealthy and unhappy. That somewhere between this Alec and his own, something had been lost that could never be found.

They looked very young in the photo. It had to be a few years old. It was far more candid than Magnus would have expected.

Isabelle, beautiful like her brother. All dark hair and eyes and hips and happiness.

Jace, broad and blonde. His cocky smirk gone and a beaming smile in its place.

Clary, tiny and slim. Hair bright, eyes brighter.

Simon, glasses and curls. His shy on screen persona abandoned for a braver, bigger smile.

And Alec. He had a lot more muscle and a lot more confidence, but Magnus’ Alec was still hiding there. In the curve of his smile and the tangle of his hair.

When Magnus looked up, Alec was back from the kitchen and looking at him nervously. The difference was stark, and frankly terrifying. Magnus had noted that Alec had lost a little weight when they’d first met, how baggy his clothes had been and how sharply his cheekbones had cut out of his face. But it was really hitting him now.

“That was just after we finished season one,” Alec said softly. “I hated Clary. Jace had almost broken his ankle during one of the last takes. Isabelle and Simon weren’t dating yet. Everything was different.” 

“You look really happy,” Magnus said, almost before he could stop himself.

“It was a long time ago.” Alec’s voice was soft, but there was something in it that was longing. 

“Alec,” Magnus whispered, “what’s wrong?” There was a silence in the room that felt holy. But Magnus needed to know. He needed to know where the weight had gone, why Alec had gone. He needed to know the truth that was just barely out of his reach, the one that Alec kept hinting at before quickly stowing away.

“Have you ever read the book The Host?” Alec asked. He wouldn’t meet Magnus’ eyes. “It’s by Stephanie Meyer.”

Magnus remembered it distantly. “No,” he admitted. “After reading Twilight I wasn’t sure I could ever trust her again.”

Alec nodded, smiling a little, but not laughing. “I—I feel like the main character in The Host. There are technically two; a human girl and the alien parasite that’s taken over her body. And the alien parasite is good and kind and trying to find her place in the universe. And the human girl is angry and fighting to be back in control of her own life. I feel like somewhere along the way, I got taken over by a host and I’m constantly trying to fight my way to the surface. I just wanted to get away from everything. It was claustrophobic, the press and the pressure and everything always needing to be perfect. And I felt like I’d become a spectator in my own life. I was just watching it happen and doing what I was told and none of it meant anything.” Alec picked at a loose thread on his clothes. Magnus was afraid to breathe, lest Alec bottle it all back up. 

“And I don’t know if I was just weaker than everyone else or what, but I couldn’t do it. So I left. I came here. Isabelle and Jace helped me pack. Clary is watering my plants. Simon is making sure Clary actually remembers to water my plants. And I’m here. I’m trying to be happy and to be thankful that I can just up and leave and not have to worry about money. But instead I just feel empty and shitty and strange. Like I’m not actually here at all. Like maybe I’m losing the fight. And there are moments, in the book and my life, when the emotions are so strong that the human surfaces, gasping for air. Sometimes I’m gasping for air, and other times I’m just,” Alec shrugged, “drowning.”

“I don’t want this to make anything weird. And I don’t want you to think that you need to worry about me all the time. But I didn’t want to feel like I was lying to you. I was kind of pretending that it was all fine. I know that you must’ve been curious with all the stuff people have been saying about the show and us leaving and whatever. I’m grateful that you didn’t push, but I also felt like I owed you the truth.”

Magnus was silent. He couldn’t imagine what was going on in Alec’s head. He couldn’t imagine a world where Alec would think that needing a break and being human made him weak.

“You’re not weaker than them.”

“What?” Alec looked surprised that Magnus had said anything at all.

“I like you a lot and if I’m going to have to defend you from yourself, so be it. Just because you’re human and it gets overwhelming or upsetting doesn’t mean you’re weak.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Magnus shrugged, rocking back and forth on his feet. “I like you and that’s not going to change. I want you to be happy.”

“I used to be happy.”

“That doesn’t matter, I want all times of you to be happy. I want every version of Alec that there ever was to be happy. I want you to be happy in every alternate universe. In the one where you’re colour-blind. The one where we don’t meet until the end of the world. The one where you’re a real demon hunter. The one where you’re a girl and so am I. The one where we’re both werewolves.”

Alec gave him a watery laugh. He looked like he was about to start crying. Magnus didn’t ever want him to cry again.

“If every version of me gets a version of you,” Alec said, “I think I’ll be just fine. And for the record, I like you too. Too much probably.”

Magnus blinked at him.

“Oh shit,” Alec said quickly. “Pretend I didn’t say that. I might have a crush on you, but that’s fine. Just pretend like it’s nothing. It’s nothing. Don’t even think about it. Fuck. I wasn’t going to say anything. It doesn’t have to matter—“

“Can I kiss you?”

Alec looked baffled by the question, but nodded. Magnus took a step towards him. 

“Can I tell you something first?” Alec asked.

“Sure?”

“I’ve never been kissed.”

“What?”

“I mean; I’ve never been properly kissed. I’ve been kissed in movies and TV, but I’ve never been kissed because someone wanted to kiss me. I’ve only ever been kissed because it was written on a piece of paper.”

Magnus couldn’t hear anymore. He couldn’t stand to live in a world where Alexander Lightwood hadn’t been kissed. Where Alexander Lightwood hadn’t been kissed by _him_.

First kisses are overrated. They are awkward and bumble-y and just shy of what they’re supposed to be. And there’s nothing about them that’s like the movies. The music doesn’t swell and the camera doesn’t pan to eighteen different shots. There’s no perfect line and there’s no perfect moment. Noses bump and teeth clack and you’re never quite sure where to put your hands.

But sometimes, when you really like someone, none of that matters. It doesn’t matter that it’s not perfect and it’s not like the movies. Because they’re here and you’re here and it’s a _moment_. It’s a tangible memory of imperfect loveliness.

Alec tasted like peppermints. His lips were soft and nervous and Magnus could feel Alee’s eyelashes flutter against Magnus’ cheeks. His hands fell to the hem of Magnus’ shirt and stayed there, like he wanted to keep him from pulling away. When he finally had to pull away, he was breathless and flushed. He’d flung an arm around Alec’s shoulders. Alec’s eyes were so dreadfully bright.

“Now,” Magnus said, his voice wobblier than he’d like to admit, “you’ve been kissed.” Alec nodded, looking dazed and mumbling something under his breath.

“What?” Magnus asked, unable to keep the smile off his face. He felt like all the emotions in his chest were going to come bursting out. Like his soul was too big and too loud for his body.

Alec shrugged, looking about as uncontainable as Magnus felt. “That was way better than a movie kiss.”

Magnus couldn’t help it, he kissed him again.

When they’d finally gotten themselves together, they ate the food that Alec had made. They ate sitting on the couch, telling silly stories about their lives, knees bumping. The food was wonderful and went nicely in Magnus’ stomach along with the colony of butterflies he’d apparently taken to keeping there.

“I could help you,” Magnus said softly.

“Huh?”

“I’ll come over on the weekend. We’ll put together your furniture.” 

“But what about Box Town?”

“What?” 

Alec flushed, but there was something pleased in his eyes. “I’ve been calling it Box Town. All the,” he waved his arm around, “well, _boxes_.”

Magnus couldn’t help the delighted laugh that burst from his mouth. “I love it. Box Town. Ingenious.” 

“You’re right, we should. If you’re willing.”

“I’m willing.”

“Okay.” Alec looked at the boxes with something kind of worried in his eyes. “We’ll make the furniture. I guess I can then find out the difference between Photos and Mementos.”

“It’ll be fine, darling. Box Town or no Box Town you’re going to be fine. I promise.”

Alec nodded, leaning into Magnus just a little. Magnus’ heartrate rose exponentially. He scolded it quietly.

When he finally left, it was with the promise that he’d text. That they’d see each other the next day. That they’d fix Box Town. The street lights seemed golden and the night seemed infinite. Magnus didn’t think the town had ever been more beautiful.

Magnus Bane had had a date, and what a splendid date it had been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You would think that I would have something witty or profound to say, given that this chapter has their first kiss in it, but I don't!! I hope you like it? Everyone's comments on this have been so nice and are keeping me alive, despite my university profs' best efforts to kill me. Also I'm actually so stoked that people like the same books that I do, it's kind of embarrassing.
> 
> NOTE ON THE BOOKS: I think, though I'm not positive, that Exit, Pursued by a Bear is the only book to get a double mention in this fic, but I read it over the summer (when I wrote most of this) and I was really surprised how much I liked it. Before I really recommend it though, know that it is a fairly dark book with massive trigger warnings for rape and assault. The title is awesome and the book itself is really well-written, but don't pick it up without knowing what it's about!! Please!! Not your mother, just a concerned citizen.


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